A/N
"{Speech}" = mental speech
As promised: this chapter is quartet time mostly.
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Preparing the D-Day
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Pinegrew Manor – 20th of July
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"And there's no chance you'll change your mind about this?" Daphne's pout was adorable. She learned it from the best, in this case her mother. Spiritualist Nowles however was far too old to fall for this transparent trick. She had been around for more decades than she liked to remember and for more than fifty years she had been a family friend of the Pinegrews. She had seen exactly the same pout on Roxanne's face and on Agatha's before her times and times again.
"Nope," Nel popped the 'p' like a ten year old and her grin wasn't far more mature. However it did its job and Daphne stopped her grumbling, pleading and begging – at least for the moment.
For the last thirty minutes she had – not for the first time this month – tried to convince Nel to execute the Cleansing Ritual before Harry's birthday.
"It would be such an incredible birthday present," Daphne wailed.
"It will be an incredible birthday present too if we do it on August the first as planned," Nel deadpanned unmoving. "We decided months ago that we needed time for training. And we equally decided to do this after Harry turns sixteen. I see no reason to change it now. You do know that Harry has no problem with the date?"
Daphne mumbled something incomprehensible.
"Speak louder," Nel growled.
Daphne sighed and grimaced. "That's because he…" She sighed again, her grimace deepening. "He fears the ritual."
"Naturally he fears it," Nel responded with a shrug. "He's clever."
Daphne paled. "So there is still a danger?"
Her stupid question got her a slap but no immediate answer. She had to wait for Nel to explain, while getting more and more restless. She had always hoped that with all the training, with the endless sessions preparing on her own, with Nel or with Harry, that the ritual wouldn't be more than a formality, a safe bet. Nel's face told her now that this wasn't the case.
"There will always be some danger," Nel answered at last. "The scar had been part of him for a long time. It is nearly wedded to him, nearly inseparable." Nel played with a small figurine she had always in her pocket. Daphne knew the figurine by heart. It was a present from Nel's first lover and in her possession for more than a century. She shuddered a bit, thinking about Nel and a lover – together. That certainly was a picture she didn't need in her head. The figurine had long lost its edges and was nearly unidentifiable now from all the handling. Nel kneading it like this was a sign of uneasiness on her part. And an uneasy Nel made Daphne nervous.
"You know my opinion about Headmaster Dumbledore." Daphne nodded curtly. Nel didn't possess the burning hate of the Pinegrew or the Longbottom women, Hermione included, but she thought him to be some kind of a short-sighted idiot without any ability to see the worth of emotions. He only regarded humans as chess pieces and their emotions as levers to move them around on the board.
"In one matter he has been correct: we have to get rid of the scar to defeat Tom permanently. And under any other circumstances there would have been no choice than to let Harry die and the scar with him. Without you there would have been no other way to end this."
Daphne flinched but bravely retorted: "you could have done it."
"No," Nel shook her head. "We need both in one person: someone who trusts and knows Harry and has his complete and utter trust in return; and someone able to use the powers of a spirit healer. Both in one are needed to do the job. I don't have the trust nor Hermione the knowledge. She can't learn the required spells and I would need years to get the necessary trust and connection to him, if it is even possible with decades in experience and mindset separating us. Even with you I would like to wait another year…" She stopped Daphne's flare with a wave of her hand. "I know, I know. I won't wait any longer. I only said that I would like to. Still there is a danger, for both of you. A single second of hesitation, a single moment of disappointment while viewing each other's mind and all will be lost. This is not like back then when you healed Alice. You can't contain the scar through Occlumency. Do it or fail utterly. This will be a question of yes or no. I don't want to scare you, Daphne. The chances are really good that we'll succeed. However, on the other hand, I won't lie to you: this won't be risk free."
"Should I tell him?" Daphne asked, before sighing deeply and answering her own question. "Yes, I should." She had felt angry about Hermione not telling Neville the story of her father being abducted and her living with some Nomads for a while. Remaining silent about this would be worse – and she a hypocrite.
"Yes, you should," Nel agreed. "You already have the necessary knowledge. Now you have to eradicate the last remains of… of distance between the both of you. You have to share your minds, your knowledge and most of all your dreams, hopes and emotions. There can't be a Harry and a Daphne but only…"
"Only Darry?" Daphne asked with an uneasy grin.
"Something like that, yes." Nel patted Daphne's arm. "You'll succeed, Daphne. I have faith in you."
If only I had this faith too, Daphne groaned silently. If only…
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Interlude One – Harry's ol' friend
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He was sitting in the beautiful pavilion at the edge of the garden, overlooking a small pond and with huge trees, planted more than fifty years ago, providing shade. It was an incredible afternoon. Daphne was preparing for their little trip to London Heathrow, where they intended to pick up Hermione and get her to her boyfriend, anxiously awaiting her return.
Harry wasn't certain what convinced him to visit this place today. It was a feeling that he was needed here. Perhaps it was the fireplace between pavilion and pond, a spot he had used more than once this year for some of his smaller fire rituals. He liked the place. Here he felt near to all four elements. It was more balanced than the magically far stronger location they had used to prepare for their last attack on ol' Tom's hideout. That cave had been very strong in its elemental magic, but only contained Earth and Fire. Here was the water of the pond and the air of the treetops as well. Harry closed his eyes and exhaled a deep breath of contentment. He would be here very soon, he felt it.
For a while he stayed like this, enjoying the moment, the calmness. Lately he rarely had time to relax by himself. He loved Daphne dearly, loved to be together with her, but sometimes he needed this as well. A motion to his right accompanied by a soft clattering noise reminded him of the fact that he wasn't completely alone. With a soft smile on his face, Harry watched Balou as he was staring at… something… in the grass. Perhaps it was a tiny mouse or simply a spider enjoying the sun. Whatever it was, Balou was watching it closely, his whole body betraying his attention, and the tail his excitement. Another one of his four pet friends was also there, the one closest to him and in a way belonging to his family too. On one of the branches of one of the trees, hidden by hundreds of leaves even from Harry's keen eye, was Hedwig resting, waiting like Harry.
Three days ago there had been a serious conversation between Daphne and Nel. Daphne had told him about it afterwards. Nine days, that was the timeframe he had to think about. In nine days they would undergo his ritual and he would be free. After nearly fifteen years he would get rid of the scar at last. Daphne told him about the dangers and he had been happy about it. Harry hated to be in the dark about such things, about someone treating him like a child or trying to "protect his feelings".
It was Daphne's right to decide if she wanted to help him despite the grave dangers to her own sanity.
It was his right to know all facts and decide if he wanted to undergo the ritual. His decision had been positive. He would enjoy these nine days and hope for the best. Today he would see one of his best friend again and with a bit of luck he would be able to arrange something important as well within the next minutes.
Where are you, my friend?
It was like his thought had called him and Harry opened his eyes with a sappy smile as a low crack announced his arrival.
"Hello, old friend," he greeted him with a smile. He got a nod in return, the eyes of his friend telling him that he was happy to see him as well.
"It's good you're here," Harry continued, his expression thoughtful and a bit sad.
He observed him intently, feeling that something had changed about him. It wasn't something physical, nothing outwardly, but hidden in the depths of his being. His essence was the same but altered and Harry gulped as he realized the difference. Hedwig, who had left her resting place and settled on a stump only a couple of paces away, was feeling it too, Harry was certain.
"So you made your decision at last?" His friend nodded again. Harry felt a wave of determination and sadness reaching his heart. "I'm happy but sad at the same time that you needed to do this. It is a gloom time to cancel such a connection and to close up such a strong friendship. I grieve with you, my friend." His friend stepped forward and allowed Harry to hug him, carefully but with much emotion.
"I'll try to be a friend like he was to you in the past – before he changed." Harry felt a wave of trust and happiness hit him and he smiled weakly.
He watched him in silence for a while, uncertain whether he should really tell him what he wanted to. His friend stared back and Harry had the feeling that he knew exactly why Harry had wanted to meet him today. "I have something to ask you, my friend. It would be a great boon to me and it would be an awesome birthday present for Neville, but I don't know if I can really ask it of you." His friend cocked his head like begging him to continue, and after a heavy sigh Harry actually did. "It is your decision, my friend. I will not disappointed if you don't want to do it, but you would make me happy, I have to admit."
His friend nodded his agreement and Harry smiled still a tad sad. "So this is a yes? You will do it?" He sighed. "Alright, so that's how we should do it: in seven days, on Neville's birthday, I will be there, waiting for you…"
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London Heathrow – 23rd of July
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Harry was certain that he felt some of his ribs breaking under the crushing hug of this whirlwind called Hermione Granger. Daphne was standing a few steps away, happy to have him endure the first energy wave of the reunion. Seconds later she had to endure a hug as well, certainly as heartfelt but with less bone-breaking intensity. Crookshanks, who had been waiting on Daphne's arms so far, hastily jumped away and waited for his beloved 'tin opener' to calm down a bit, before he risked to get closer. The sounds coming from Hermione's mouth as she cuddled her cat at last, sounded very much like those a toddler would utter when hugging its baby brother. Crookshanks looked slightly annoyed but endured it nonetheless. He had missed her too, Harry knew.
"Good to see you again, Harry," Dan Granger greeted him with a strong pat that felt like dislocating his shoulder. This was Dan Granger? He looked nothing like the pale, indoor man he had said farewell to last December. This man looked far healthier, had exchanged a stone of fat with an equal amount of muscles, a well-tanned skin and vibrant eyes. If this was the result of spending a few months with "Doctors without Borders", he wanted to do this too. Then his face turned into a broad smile, as he remembered that Hermione had something like this in mind already.
"Good to have you back, Sir," Harry responded, really meaning it. Watching the man more closely, it was easy to detect the reason of his changed appearance. Dan Granger shared this urge to help others with his wife and daughter. He needed the feeling of doing something important and worthwhile, to make an impact on the world. He couldn't do this in his British office but it had been possible in Sudan. Despite the hardship, despite the dangers and the monetary loss: Harry had no doubt that Dan Granger would return. And from the look of Emma Granger's face she would accompany him as soon as Hermione's time at Hogwarts was finished.
A few minutes later, while they waited for the luggage and Daphne interviewed the Grangers about their experience in Sudan, Harry ushered Hermione aside. His thoughtful face prompted her to stop smiling. "What's the matter, Harry? Is something wrong with Neville? Is…"
"Calm down, Hermione," Harry stopped his friend. "Nothing like that. I only," he hesitated for a moment. "I only wanted to tell you that Daphne knows."
Hermione stared at him for a moment, slightly confused, before her face lit up with realization. "You mean…"
"I told her about what happened in Sudan."
Hermione frowned, looking unhappy. "I begged you not to."
"I know, I know," Harry sighed. "But Daphne has her ways, you know her."
Hermione rolled her eyes, her grin returning. "Nibbling at your earlobe?"
"Something like that," Harry grinned back. "Not to forget punching and tickling me until I give up."
Hermione giggled. "I should have tried this tactic years ago to get you to do your assignments."
"Would have been more efficient than your nagging, big sister," Harry agreed.
"Git," Hermione punched his shoulder.
"Hey," Harry complained. "Only Daphne is allowed to do that."
"Nope," Hermione grinned. "I got a written dispense from her."
"I'll have to speak with her about that," Harry grumbled. After a moment he got serious again. "You should really tell Neville. He deserves to know."
Hermione looked unhappy and a bit anxious for a moment. "He won't be happy about my silence."
"No, he won't. Doesn't change the fact that he should know." Suddenly his face exploded into a big grin. "Perhaps you could allow him to spank you a bit in compensation. I'm still certain that nice, little Neville has some dark surprises waiting under his friendly, sweet appearance."
Hermione raised a single eyebrow but couldn't hide her blush completely. "Spanking? Is that how you spent the last weeks with Daphne?"
"What are you two talking about?" Daphne interjected, taking notice of their conversation.
"Harry just mentioned a few last minute birthday presents," Hermione responded with a broad grin.
"Oh, do tell." Now it was Harry's turn to blush a nice Weasley-red.
How could this conversation turn downhill like this? He groaned inwardly.
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Interlude Two – Harry's former mentor
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Like a tiger in its cage he was pouncing around in the little spare room. It had been days since he last dared to leave the house and even then he had to use a strong glamour to alter his appearance and be careful where to bend his steps. Many locations still had defences active against Death Eaters using illusions such like his. Not that he was a Death Eater – or an evil person – but they would detect him just as well.
Today however a different matter troubled his mind. Yesterday he had sensed someone perusing an item he had forgotten to take with him as he fled weeks ago. He simply hadn't kept in mind that there were some old diaries which could be of interest to someone, diaries he should have destroyed years ago. Why would someone read his diaries about the first war against Tom? Who would be reading them right now? They wouldn't help the reader in finding him. However, they certainly would explain a few things about what he had done in the past and why.
Had it been Augusta Longbottom? Albus couldn't really imagine the DMLE allowing Augusta to read his diaries but you never knew with Amelia and her weird way of thinking. Perhaps one of the investigating Aurors hadn't been able to constrain his curiosity. It was impossible to imagine what the reader had done with his knowledge. Albus didn't know exactly what that anonymous person had read, only which book he had opened. It had been the one describing his thoughts and deeds in the years leading up to and ending with Tom's demise. Many, many things were written in there that could be misunderstood, seen in a wrong context and misleading without his deeper knowledge of the circumstances.
Damned it, Albus cursed, magic flaring around him for a moment. Damned it all, he repeated, a tad calmer and able to control his magic this time. It didn't help. He could do nothing about it. For now he could only wait and pray.
Worse things happen at sea, he tried to lighten his mood, failing miserably. I'll have to read the newspaper. I have to know if the reader has published his knowledge. Damned it, Amelia, why did you allow this to happen?
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Hogwarts – Office of Headmaster Flitwick – 25th of July
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"This is really a very interesting piece of magic, Miss Granger," Filius Flitwick handled the delicate figurine with loving care. "Thank you to bring this to my attention."
"Can you tell me anything about its magic, Headmaster?" Hermione asked.
She was grateful that Professor Flitwick had instantly agreed to examine the exotic figurine. Since her return to England, Crookshanks had been behaving rather weird. It was as if he knew about the figurine and its connection to him. She wanted to know as soon as possible if it would do what she had been told, to be able to make an educated decision.
"When you first told me about the intended result, I expected to see Transfiguration magic lingering in the figurine. However, I was wrong. It's purely Charms, a spell called 'Remember your Nature' to be exact. It is meant to evoke something in the recipient that allows him to change into a full-fledged member of one of his parent races. I have been thinking about using a very similar spell myself, in the past."
"A spell to turn you into a Goblin?" Hermione wondered, trying to imagine the result and especially the repercussions. It had been difficult enough to put Professor Flitwick on this chair. Even the most tolerant Governors wouldn't allow a full Goblin to stay Headmaster.
"Yes," Filius nodded, his smile telling Hermione that he understood her thinking. "However, I wanted to keep my current unique place in the world. Others would certainly say it makes me neither completely human or Goblin, but I deem it more worthy to be a link between both cultures. However, back to the matter at hand. I'm certain that the figurine will do what you have been told. It will allow your tomcat to make a decision: become a 'normal' cat; turn into a full Kneazle; or stay as he is."
"And can you tell me something about the figurine itself? The woman… the woman who gifted it to me," Hermione hesitated. "I had the impression that the figurine had a hidden meaning."
Filius shrugged. "I'm not certain. The spell itself is a very special one and she has to have a very intensive and close connection to Kneazles to be able to cast it on the figurine. Even I couldn't do the same. The figurine itself is hand-crafted and very old. It is surprisingly good in shape. Certainly it had been protected somehow, perhaps stored away for all this time."
"How old is the figurine?" Hermione asked, anxiously anticipating the answer.
"Between twenty and twenty-five centuries," Filius answered. "A very fine piece of Egyptian culture it is. You should certainly keep it afterwards."
"I will, Headmaster," Hermione mumbled. "I certainly will."
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Hermione had just said her farewell and wanted to leave the office, as she noticed Filius' faraway look. There had been something strange about his mood but so far he had hidden it well. Only now he allowed it to bleed through. Hesitating for a moment only, Hermione closed the door and took her place again.
Startled, Filius looked up: "Something else on your mind, Miss Granger?"
"Not on mine," she shook her head "but obviously on yours."
"I don't know…" Filius tried a smile but stumbled as Hermione raised a single eyebrow in a very Minerva-style.
"I would have to be blind and deaf not to notice that something grave is troubling you. Please tell me… Filius." Hermione used his given name with consideration. It was a sign of her not speaking as his student, but as his friend and battle-sister.
Filius smiled weakly, looking thoughtful for a while until he nodded slowly. "Alright, I'll tell you. But you have to remain resolutely silent about this, even towards your friends."
"I promise," Hermione declared, for a second wondering if it had been the right decision to ask.
"You know that Kings bade me to have a look at Albus' manor, peruse his documents and search for hints about his hideout?"
"Yes, Harry told me about it. Did you find something?"
"Yes, but not what I was looking for." His face turned grey and sad. "Not what I had hoped to find and certainly nothing I ever wanted to read." He sighed with a shudder. "And now I don't know what to do with the knowledge."
"Can you tell me some details?"
"I fear not. Not that I don't trust you…" He hesitated and shrugged. "In a way, yes, I can't tell you because I don't trust you, or more exactly, I don't trust your temper."
Hermione scowled but allowed Filius to continue.
"I know you well enough, Hermione. You wouldn't be able to not act on that knowledge. You wouldn't be able to keep your knowledge away from your friends. And even if you wouldn't try to find Albus and kill him, Neville certainly would."
Hermione paled. What could Headmaster Flitwick have found in those papers? She had no idea but it must have been bad, if he assumed that Neville would skip his own grandmother and her plan for revenge…
"I assume you found something about what he did in the past." Filius nodded. "In his diaries perhaps?" Again he nodded. "He hurt someone… gravely?" Filius smiled faintly.
"He did something I hadn't expected him to be able to," he whispered hoarsely.
"Perhaps you should tell the affected person," Hermione suggested. "Perhaps it can be rectified."
"It can't," Filius shook his head. "it can never again be made up for." Hermione watched him completely shocked as Filius actually started to cry. "To tell her… it would break her."
Hermione's mind raced. Who could… "Minerva?!" Only she was close enough to Filius to cause such a reaction.
Filius' head snapped up. "You can't tell her. She can't know… he was her friend."
Realizing something, Hermione got deathly pale. "He did something that was even worse than what he did to the Longbottoms." It was more a statement than a question.
"Far worse, yes."
"You should tell Augusta," Hermione offered, thinking about what Albus Dumbledore could have done that was graver than all the crimes he committed towards the Longbottom family. "She's Minerva's friend and she would be the one to make a decision."
"You really think so?" Filius asked. Despite all his years and experience, he felt like a young Goblin right now, happy to have someone telling him what to do in this storm of his emotions.
"Yes, you should. Together you'll find a solution. Tell her, tell Augusta."
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Interlude Three – Harry's mate
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Walking through the part of the garden that was under Neville's care, with Neville showing Harry the plants he prepared for his NEWT in Herbology, Harry used the moment of the girls' absence to address something that had been troubling him for days, especially as he had been a factor in starting the trouble. He suddenly gave Neville a slight slap to the back of the head and glared at him.
"What?" Neville asked, knowing exactly what this was about.
"Stop behaving like a prat towards 'Mione. She doesn't deserve this," Harry growled.
Neville's face turned into a pout – certainly not an adoring one like Daphne had mastered, but close enough. "She should have told me about the abduction."
"Yes, she should have," Harry agreed with a sigh.
"I want to know if she's in danger – or her family. Dan is important to me, and not only as my future father-in-law. He's my friend as well."
Harry silently agreed. While he liked Emma Granger more than her husband – she was like a grown-up and more patient version of Hermione and an incredible teacher as well – Dan had become close to the Longbottoms. Especially Frank and Neville liked him and had exchanged quite a number of letters while Dan stayed in Sudan.
"She admitted that you begged her to tell me, you know?" Neville growled. "She would have left me in the dark about this."
"I don't think so, Neville," Harry disagreed. "While the matter was hanging in the balance, she didn't want to tell you, but only because she didn't want to cause you distress. You couldn't have helped and would have worried yourself mad."
"I still would have gone to her."
"And that's exactly the reaction she expected and wanted to prevent. You would not have finished your family summer and knowing how much you wanted to spend time with your parents, Hermione didn't want that."
"She could have told me afterwards," Neville grumbled.
"She would have." Neville looked sceptical. "I'm sure, Neville. Think about it: she told me, knowing that I can't keep a secret from Daphne. She knew that she had to tell you about Sudan and the dangers. She only needed a little push." Harry suddenly grinned mischievously. "You could very well use this, Neville." Neville looked confused, so Harry did explain. "The keyword is redemption. I see endless hours of massage and offerings of chocolate-dipped strawberries in your near future." Turning somewhat more serious he continued: "you know, after weeks of being without her you should really spend your hours with heavy snogging sessions instead of sulking around."
"You're right, mate," Neville thoughtful expression turned into a happier one. He looked around and made a decision. "Sorry, I have to go."
"It's… alright." Harry said to the empty air. For a moment he stared at the flowers Neville had wanted to show him, before he shrugged to himself. "Snogging session, now there is an idea."
A second cracking sound later the green house was empty again.
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Golden City – 26th of July
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"She doesn't look so haughty anymore."
The words, uttered in glee and accompanied by cruel laughter, stopped her steps cold. Ophelia Nott had been on her way to her brother's room. Again she had wanted to speak with him about finding a solution, convincing him that his decision had been an error, a cruel misjudgement destroying her whole life.
Since their father's death, Theo Nott senior had been head of house Nott, patriarch of their admittedly small family. While he proved to be an adequate manager of the family estate, not only securing the family money but also increasing it somewhat, and competently administrating the family properties all over Europe, he had made some very stupid political decisions in the past. More than once he had ruffled the feathers of the wrong people or put his influence and name behind politicians who were personally disgusting or had a despicable worldview – or both.
Her mother allowed it to happen, her mind befuddled by grief and sorrow even after all those years. Ophelia sighed, thinking about the deep love that had connected their parents. It had been, as usual in the Nott family for generations, an arranged marriage. However, they had been lucky. Meeting for the first time three days before the marriage, a bumbling Tiberius Nott and the shy Adelaide Goshawk, niece of Miranda Goshawk whose works were still set text at Hogwarts, hit it off instantly. Within an hour, Tiberius had it understood to relax Adelaide and before they parted ways that evening, the two meeting families hadn't to urge the couple to share the engagement kiss.
Ophelia wanted this too. While she was enough of a Slytherin to be realistic, knowing that real love was rare especially with 90 percent of the men being socially off-limits to her, she wanted friendship at least, respect and tolerance. Certainly she didn't want the feeling of having to vomit every time her husband touched her, something she felt around Dolohov and most other members of the – luckily fast decreasing – circle of the Dark Lord's followers.
Ophelia Nott was in a quandary. Her mother had been able to convince her husband to make a very unusual decision. It was unusual enough to have been written in the secret addendum of his will. Theo was allowed to make every decision about the family wealth, properties and members – aside from a marriage contract. So in a way he couldn't enforce his bargain. Naturally he had a few ways left to 'convince' her. He could cut her off from the family's wealth – something very dire for someone who had never worked a day in her life and never had to think about prices. He could at least try to make her socially inacceptable, the unruly daughter not tolerable at society gatherings and certainly not appropriate for any official relationship. Ophelia wasn't certain about that part, with her brother on the run and her being friends – if hidden – with Roxanne Pinegrew.
And then there was the fact that he had not only agreed to the arrangement but even dared to make a magic oath on it. Ophelia didn't know if Theo had only asserted this to convince her into agreeing to the marriage, or if he really had been stupid – or desperate – enough to actually swear that oath. Could she risk it? Could she resist and watch her brother lose his magic or life?
With all those questions and thoughts bubbling in her head, Ophelia was now standing near the open door and listening to Dolohov's cruel words.
"I never expected to see Alecto again – like this." So he was speaking about Alecto Carrow.
Ophelia had never been very close to her. Alecto Carrow was, like most members of her family, mad as a hatter and had a cruel and vicious streak. However, she had felt pity when learning about her infection and the following turning into a Werewolf. Markus Flint, a younger Death Eater who belonged to the small number among them which Ophelia was able to endure and had even thought about admitting to her boudoir once in a while because of his impressive physique and surprisingly gentle manners when without the presence of older 'comrades', had told her a few stories about how Fenrir Greyback had treated Alecto a few months ago. She had been disgusted. Fenrir, now that was a man-beast who deserved to get castrated with a blunt spoon and get his pieces stuffed into his uncouth gob.
"He keeps her like a slave, complete with chains and whip incentives," he snickered.
"How did Fenrir get her?" Theo asked and Ophelia had to put her hand on the wall for support, paling as she thought about a woman – any woman, even Alecto – being Fenrir's slave.
"She tried to assassinate him." Good woman, Ophelia Nott growled silently. "Apparently he knew beforehand as she wasn't too inconspicuous in her preparations." Stupid woman, Ophelia rolled her eyes. "He decided to catch her instead of simply killing." Slow death instead of a fast one, Ophelia realized.
The men continued to speak about Alecto, Fenrir and cruel members of his pack, while Ophelia slowly sank back and returned to her room. She had to think about this. Alecto wasn't her friend. She certainly belonged in St. Mungo's closed ward or perhaps even killed because of the double danger her maniac mind in her Werewolf body represented, but she didn't deserve to stay there – with Fenrir.
I need a solution, Ophelia mused. And I'll find one.
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Pinegrew Manor – 28th of July
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"They're palsy-walsy again," Harry grinned and pointed towards Hermione and Neville. Like Harry and Daphne, the other couple was resting in the garden, enjoying the break before Brychan Camwy and Ana Sanchez continued their gruelling training. Right now Neville 'endured' Hermione practised massage, her strong hands kneading his shoulders and upper back, while he relished some of the grapes Ciddy provided. Immediately after his talk with Harry, Neville had surprised Hermione with jumping her in the middle of a conversation with Alice Longbottom and expressing his reconciliation quite 'snoggingly'.
"He's really milking the situation," Daphne pouted.
"As if you wouldn't in his stead," Harry deadpanned. Daphne responded with a heavy sigh and a small shrug: "perhaps."
"And I think she's enjoying that, too," Harry argued. "She likes to spoil him a bit and now she has an excuse. I'm certain she missed him as much as Neville did her."
"Can't be," Daphne disagreed. "I visited Alice a few times while Hermione was gone. Nobody could be as much in weal and woe as he has been." Both teenagers grinned, and – with Daphne cuddling into Harry's arms – continued to watch their friends.
"They're cute, aren't they?" Daphne asked.
"Yeah," Harry agreed, pressing a kiss on the top of her head "but not as cute as you."
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"Up, up, break is over," Ana announced while clapping her hands loudly. She looked far too happy about shooing the teenagers back to their training. Their bodies protested but the four teenagers obediently followed her into the training room. Officially she was on vacation and Harry had no doubt that Daphne's aunt thought this training to be very relaxing – to her at least.
The last weeks had been spent with training of all kind. Daphne had been on the shooting range every second day, while Harry and Neville – under the watchful eye of Spanish Auror Ruiz – continued their knife combat exercises. They even started to integrate their elemental magic into those fights, with Harry covering his knife with flames while Neville protected his shield arm with a layer of stone. More than once Daphne had felt left out, as the boys were a talented team in many exercises. They had continued their Rune/Elemental training, experimenting with new ways to transfer their strengths into a usable battle strategy. The hell hounds used in the team fight against the British Aurors had been mostly for fun, but could very well turn into an advantage in a real fight.
Now she was happy to have Hermione around again, as the girls were easily as incredible a duo as the boys. Disillusioned potion bottles filled with some itching powder or another irritating content and thrown at an incredible long range, was their newest addition to the team's repertoire. Hermione had returned with an increased understanding of her water magic and was now using their evening to read some obscure books, whose content had escaped her understanding before her voyage to the Sudan. She made slow progress but was happy nonetheless.
Daphne on the other hand had experimented with her abilities to scan an area for open minds – open in this case meaning without the protection of Occlumency. Especially in unclear areas it was an incredible advantage to know the position and numbers of their enemies. With many foes she was even able to guess the moment they wanted to attack, as the brain activity was rising in the seconds before. This wasn't practicable however with more experienced fighters, as they stayed too calm in the fight.
When they entered the room, Roxanne and Agatha were waiting for them as well as Brychan. Roxanne gestures Harry to take his position right in front of her. "The others: wands away."
Slightly confused Harry's friends obeyed and waited for something to happen.
"Only shields, Harry," Brychan orders and instantly sends a hurtful looking stinging hex towards Roxanne. Harry reacted instinctively and jumped into the line of fire while creating a shield that reliably intercepted the attack. "Only magical shields, Harry," Brychan scolded him and used a bit of magic to push him back, before starting the next attack.
Over the next few minutes, the intensity of the attacks increased and while Harry was able to defend his adoptive mother against every one of them, he slowly got tired. This only increased as Ana joined Brychan in his attacks. Harry's shields crackled and started to crumble, as he felt a surge of energy flooding his magical core.
"Scutum," Hermione's embarrassed yell announced the culprit to everybody. Harry grinned despite the pearls of sweat on his forehead. The order "No wands" didn't prevent Hermione from supporting him through their link. Daphne and Neville followed seconds later and the tiredness left Harry while his shields increased in power. Slowly it turned into a soft glowing sphere completely covering Roxanne. It held, even with Agatha joining the attacking duo.
"Ignis Terrestris!" Only as Brychan started to throw elemental fire spells against the protecting dome, did the shield start to show signs of overload. Harry's mind raced. He could draw more power from his friends but he doubted that this was the aim of this exercise. Until now he was only pulling around thirty per cent of their power into his shields, leaving them enough to continue a fight on their own in a real battle.
"{Use Hermione's power}" Daphne advised him.
Harry frowned for a moment. Why Hermione's? He could feel the three streams of power. Each of them was different. Daphne's magic was airy, gentle and like a caress. Neville's magic was earthen, strong and dependable. And Hermione's was…
Brychan shouted something and an incredible pillar of fire came into existence above Roxanne and descended rapidly. Leaving the drain from Daphne and Neville at the old level, Harry increased his pull towards Hermione, accepting that his core felt slightly uneasy towards this kind of magic. Since her return he had felt this antagonism in their magic and now he realized the reason: he was fire and Hermione was water. Water could be used to douse flames or to protect against them.
A broad grin erupted on Brychan's face as he noticed how Harry's shield changed colour. It turned an azure blue and nearly looked like water was cascading down the sphere. As his pillar of fire hit the protecting shield, it hissed and steam started to erupt from the collision of energies. Seconds later nothing was left from the vicious fight of the elements aside from a cloud of steam lazily floating away.
"Good, very good," Brychan praised them.
Harry shared a grin with his friends. His gut told him that it had been only the start of a gruelling training session. And he would be proven right. They spend several more hours with exercises how to integrate their different elements into the shields, which element helped more against which attack and how to switch fast enough to make it a real help in strengthening their defence and ease the strain on his friends' cores.
For a second he had time to glance towards Daphne and Hermione. Their faces told him, how they would spend the evening. He saw dozens of tables and diagrams about the interaction of the four elements and the different spells used in a fight. Air to cushion the impact; Fire against water and ice; Earth against visual or shredding attacks; each element had its advantage and the girls would find them all.
He shared a look with Neville, who was obviously thinking the same right now: We love our clever girls.
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Interlude Four – Harry's slightly weird friend
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"You're a cute little bugger, aren't you?" Millie asked, her voice rich with affection.
The weird looking little creature endured the fondling without duress or complaint. It even seemed to melt into the huge, calloused hand of the broad-shouldered, heavyset girl. Millie was careful not to move too fast or to exercise too much strength, knowing how flighty and fragile these creatures were.
Before their common arrival, Xeno Lovegood had been hesitant about her company and tried to explain it could happen that the Snorkacks wouldn't make their presence known with a foreigner around. Consequently, Millie had been anxious and dearly hoped him to be wrong. Luna in contrary had been confident and never showed the slightest doubt about Millie meeting them. She had been right. After only a few minutes in the area, the first Snorkacks had left their hideout in the scrub and gravitated towards Luna. In the beginning they had mostly ignored Millie – still better than fearfully hiding from her – later a few of the younger ones had allowed her to come nearer and even settled on her massive shoulders. They had certainly made her week.
"Do you know that I'm the first Slytherin ever seeing one of you?" Millie asked; she was certain that her little friend understood her perfectly. "Not that I'm a real Slytherin," Millie sighed, unsecure if she should be happy or sad about that fact.
A year ago she had learned that she belonged to a number of Slytherin student stemming from Slytherin pureblood families who had been sorted into the house of snakes on Headmaster Dumbledore's command. She could have demanded a resorting but like Daphne had decided to stay where she was. She liked the house and her friends. Only the question remained: which house would it have been?
Millie sighed and tried to concentrate on the little creature. Xeno was away for the day, using their stay on Island to visit an old pen pal. Luna however was relaxing in a pool of hot volcanic water a dozen steps away. I won't look. I won't look. Millie uttered silently like a mantra. It didn't help that Luna was relaxing in her birthday suit and the fact that she had grown from a tiny girl into a young if slender woman since her fifteenth birthday.
"You should join me, Millie. The water is fantastic." Not only the water I assume, Millie groaned. Her little friend, feeling her tension, left his position and flew away to join its friends.
"I don't have a bathing suit around," Millie tried to dodge the invitation.
"You won't need it," Luna yelled back, a mischievous hint in her voice. "I promise I won't look – mostly."
You'll be the death of me, Millie groaned.
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Somewhere in Central Africa
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"You think to be killed in battle is bad fate?
"You think to be tortured with fire is worse?
"You think to be walled in alive, to spend decades in endless hunger, is the worst that could happen to you?
"Think again, Fledgling. To stir the white hag's anger is worse than anything that you ever could imagine."
Unknown Vampire – Central Africa
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Hafsa rolled her eyes and hit the man at her side on top of the head. Rodrigo blew a kiss in her direction and winked at her before he turned around to make grimaces towards the other Vampire delegacy. Madam Guille's emissary was accompanied by three massive hulks, purely breed to impress others and fight on her command, as well as a weasel-like man whose appearance betrayed his connection to the hated family clan of the Giovannis, an Italian Clan of Vampires that dabbled in Necromancy even back in mortal times.
She's really throwing her weight around this time, Hafsa mused. Before the Dark Lord's fall, she had been careful not to call in too many boons. Madam Guille had been supportive, but mostly as a lone wolf. Now, perhaps partly because of Baron Pascal's intervention, she had started to gather allies among the most despicable elements of the Vampiric society. She certainly had to promise quite a few things to get the Giovanni's support in the matter.
She can't succeed with her plans, Hafsa pondered, her eyes narrowed. She can't win their support; it would cause thousands of deaths. If Madam Guille got their full support, it would result in endless nightmares to come true. Dozens of Vampires would descend on her enemies, threatening the Statue of Secrecy that existed among the Vampire society as well as among the magical one.
"Stop it," Paul grumbled and actually Rodrigo turned around with a sigh.
"But I have so much fun annoying them," Rodrigo pouted.
Both men looked to be around forty but were actually far older. Paul had been a soldier in the Grand Armée and dying on some lonely field in Eastern Poland when Pascal found and turned him. Rodrigo had been a carriage driver in the service of the Deveraux family back in the time of Louis XIV., the Sun King. Both were incredible loyal and had been sent to deliver a little 'care package' to Hafsa. Paul was the most controlled and calm, surprisingly educated for his background and with a subtle sense of humour; Rodrigo was far more boisterous, was prone to loud fits of laughter and a real womanizer. Nonetheless they were close friends and able to compensate for each other's frailties.
Before both groups could continue to harass each other, the door was opened from the inside and an old, white-haired servant – he looked like one of those butlers from a '1860 American South' cinematic – ushered them to enter the meeting hall.
'Gone with the Wind', Hafsa remembered absent-mindedly.
She took a look around. The meeting place was an old building, simple built but large, with a very African style all around. Hafsa had never been here before, but she was certain that the place looked exactly as it had five centuries ago. Somehow moon light filled the place and heavy flavours filled the air that somehow relaxed her, certainly a welcome influence with more than twenty Vampires gathering and strong emotions flying around.
To Hafsa's surprise members of all nine covens were present, not only the three covens they intended to meet tonight. To her right, the four covens had taken seats that were supportive of Madam Guille. The last one had been convinced by her emissary through a mix of financial promises and threats. To the left Hafsa saw the two neutral covens and her two supporters – one she had been able to impress with her fighting power, the other bribed with something Pascal had sent her from his mortal friend.
The middle seat however was occupied by the White Hag. She had her name because of a pigmentation disorder that caused her black skin to be nearly as white as a bone. According to rumours she already had that disorder in her mortal times and it had been one of the reasons for her Sire to choose her – a Sire that was only known today for this single deed of turning her. The White Hag was, as far as Hafsa knew, nearly as old as she, but contrary to Hafsa she looked every single year of those. Her skin was incredible crumpled, her small eyes vanishing in deep holes and only a pitiful mob of hair covering her head.
The old servant accepted the letters of introduction Hafsa and the other emissary brought with them. He offered them to the White Hag and the ancient Vampire read them carefully, her face not betraying any emotion. Lowering the letters afterwards, her piercing eyes came to rest on the Vampires in front of her.
"Both letters," she started, her voice hoarse and low, forcing her audience to listen carefully "promise the same but so very different things." She looked towards the other delegacy.
Hafsa didn't know much about him. Vidal Jarbeaux was born somewhere in Spain where he had lived a womanizer and con man. His Sire turned him because he needed someone with diplomatic talents and charisma. How he ended in Madam Guille's service, Hafsa didn't know. He was a cultured and beautiful man, but seemed out of place around here. He seemed a bit nervous, perhaps because he felt that this location was better suited to a warrior like Hafsa.
"Your Mistress promises me wealth if I support her and death should I decline."
Hafsa had to suppress a snicker. Threatening the White Hag wasn't a clever move in her mind. She steadied her expression when the White Hag turned towards her. "Your master promises my coven magical wealth and me a serene death should the assembly stay neutral in this war."
Hafsa frowned. She hadn't known the exact content of the letter – a letter written by Baron Pascal's mortal friend and not himself. Only now did she remember the rumours about the old hag being cursed to continue on in her Unlife, far beyond the point where she wanted to die and have peace. She felt the weight of her existence every single night and was able to comprehend to wish this Unlife to end.
"Great promises, from both of your masters," the White Hag snickered, right now more appearing like a demented inmate of a retirement home instead of one of the mightiest witches of the Black Continent.
"Are you certain that they're able to achieve their goals?" Both delegacies nodded eagerly, but neither Hafsa nor the White Hag missed the second of hesitation in Jarbeaux' case.
"Are you willing to bet your Unlife on those promises?" Hafsa again felt the moment of hesitation in her competitor.
She surprised everybody, herself perhaps even more than Rodrigo and Paul, with her immediate answer, an answer uttered without any hint of hesitation or doubt. "If Baron Pascal promises something, then he'll find a way to make it true. I pledge my Unlife on it."
The White Hag nodded and for a second Hafsa saw her being impressed, before she asked the other one: "And you? Are you willing to step up as well?"
"I… I'm only an emissary." Wrong answer, dimwit. The White Hag frowned deeply. In the last moment the Giovanni stepped forward, his eyes betraying his madness. "We pledge our lives to our mistress' will."
"I see," the White Hag responded, her eyes on the Vampire speaking in his leader's stead. She narrowed her eyes. "You aren't welcome in these lands, Pietro Giovanni. I only endure your presence because of your mistress' wishes. Speak again and it will be your last words."
Pietro Giovanni, Hafsa felt sick. Not even from Madam Guille she had expected to choose such an ally. His eyes blazed in fury, but Pietro Giovanni was clever enough to keep his mouth shut. He made a mocking bow and stepped back.
"I will think about your words," the White Hag announced. "The nine covens will make a unified decision in this grave matter." Hafsa rejoiced silently. This was far better than hoped. If she could sway the White Hag, even the four covens that had pledged their support to Madam Guille, wouldn't lend her any help. Equally, Vidal Jarbeaux looked a tad ill. All his diplomatic successes for far had been in vain. His mistress wouldn't be happy.
"In three days we'll meet again. Then I'll make my decision and you'll get the chance to prove if your words were words only, spoken from a toothless mouth."
Hafsa grinned like a predator. To call a Vampire toothless was a serious insult. She would prove that she hadn't lost her warrior spirit. And perhaps I'll even get the chance to play a bit with you, Pietro Giovanni. I would like that.
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A/N
Next time: birthday party
